Traveling Soldier
by pearberry14
Summary: All human story, set in an alternate time period. Inspired by the song "Traveling Soldier" by the Dixie Chicks. One Shot.


**PB/N- hey guys. its been a while. I was listening to a song, and it gave me an idea. This is an all human fic**.

I was clearing tables at my new waitressing job, when a boy wearing an army dress uniform came in and sat down. I smiled at him and walked over. "What can I get for you?" I asked, fixing the bow in my hair. My friends told me it was a good look for me, so I adopted it.

"Oh, well nothing really. Would you mind sitting down with me for a while though?" he asked, looking up at me hopefully. I glanced back at the kitchen, and my mother nodded, giving me permission to leave, or sit down.

"I can do better." I said, untying my apron. "Come with me." I pulled him up and out of the café. I lead him to the pier, and we sat and talked.

"Hey look, I bet you have a boyfriend, a pretty girl like you, but would you mind if I sent letters to you? My parents are dead, and well I never had a girl to call mine." He said, looking down at his hands.

"Oh no, I don't have a boyfriend. And I would love it if you sent me letters." I said, smiling at him. A smile grew across his face.

"Great! Come on, it's almost time for the bus to come pick me up. Will you see me off?" he asked. I nodded, and we stood up. I slipped a slip of paper with my address into his pocket, and we walked to the nearby town hall where other men in army uniforms were waiting. After what seemed like too much of a short time with this beautiful bronze haired, green eyed boy, the bus came to get them. "Well ma'am, it was nice to meet you. My name is Edward Mason. Ill write you a letter as soon as I can." He said with a crooked smile.

"My name is Bella, Isabella Swan." I said, shaking his hand. All too soon he turned and got on the bus. The doors closed, and the bus moved off. He waved at me as he passed, and I waved back. I went back to my mother's café, and put my apron back on, finishing up the night. When we got home, my mother asked me about him.

"Did you know that boy?" my mother asked me.

"Now I do. He told me he just turned 18, so he's a grade above me. Or he was anyways. His name is Edward Mason. He's going to write me letters, since he has nobody to send them to. He's an orphan." I said, eating my dinner. She clucked.

"Poor boy. But don't you think you're too young for him? I mean you're not even 17 yet…"

"No mother, it's perfectly fine, thank you!" I said, getting up and storming my way to my bedroom.

A week later, I got the first letter. It was addressed from an army camp in California. In all retrospect, it wasn't that far away, but it seemed like he was halfway across the planet. Eagerly I ripped open the letter, and began to read. He talked about how much he missed me, and that he agreed with my friends that the bow looked really pretty on me. I wrote back thanking him and telling him that I missed him and that everyone was saying that I was much too young for him. His few letters talked about the training that they were getting to prepare them for deployment to Vietnam. He was certain that the only way he would get out of going to Vietnam was if he was too badly injured, but he was much too good at what he does to get hurt during training.

"Bella, when are you going to stop writing to this boy? He's much too old and mature for you. And if he is getting deployed, what if he gets killed?" she asked, trying to make me turn my back on the man I was starting to love.

"Mom. He's really good at what he does. There's no way he's going to die. Besides, he told me that he thinks he loves me. There's nothing you can do about my feelings for him." And with that, I went out to the mailbox to wait for the post to come. I ripped open his letter. He said that his next letter would be coming from Vietnam, that they were ready for war. I choked back tears when I read that. What if my mother was right? What if he died in war? I could never love another like I love my Edward.

I wrote back to him, telling him that he needed to stay safe and come home to me. He promised that he would, and that it was very dangerous where they were now. He said whenever the goings got tough; he would close his eyes and think back to when we were sitting on the pier. He pictured my smile whenever he got scared. Then in the same letter he said he wouldn't be able to write for a while, since they were moving into dangerous territory.

The night before our first big football game, where I would play piccolo in the marching band, I got a letter from one of his platoon buddies. I cried when I read it. He had been killed in combat. He had named me his next of kin, and they would be sending me a folded up flag, since they were going to bury him in the national cemetery. I ran to my room, and cried into my pillow until I fell asleep. I woke up, and looked at the time. I had an hour to get myself ready for the game. I quickly showered, and put my hair up in the usual fashion, bow and all. A blue one, to represent his favorite color. My father drove me to the school. I sat in the back, silent. My father looked worried; I had never been this quiet before. He dropped me off, and muttered that he would be back for me at the end of the game. We practiced our song, my tears threatening to spill over at every moment.

We marched onto the field. They announced that we were going to say the Lord's Prayer, followed by the National Anthem. During the prayer, he was all that I could think of. When everyone started singing, I couldn't hold back the tears anymore. I quietly slipped out of the band formation, and went under the bleachers to be alone.

"Folks, would you please bow your heads for a list of local Vietnam dead," a man announced. Everyone complied, but me. I knew his name would come up, and I was too distressed. "Edward Mason." He called. Nobody really cared. He told me that he didn't really have many friends. I just sat under the bleachers for the whole game, crying. I would have stayed longer, but my dad had come to get me, and saw me crying. He wrapped me in his arms, and guided me to his car. The rest of the night passed all too quickly, mostly filled with tears. I crawled into bed. The next morning I was awoken by a knock on my door.

"Yes?" I asked in a rusty voice.

"Bella, there's someone here for you." My mother said quietly. I threw on my bathrobe, not caring what I looked like. I walked out the door, and saw two men in Army dress uniforms standing in my living room, holding a flag folded in a triangle. I walked over to them, tears streaming down my face. One held out the flag. I took it in my arms, trembling.

"I'm so sorry for your loss." The other murmured, and they walked out of the house, leaving me behind with the memory of my soldier.


End file.
